EditorMom

China Quake and My Authors

2008-05-13T00:58:00.005-04:00

The massive 7.9-magnitude earthquake in southwest China that killed at least 10,000 has me worried. China is home to 6 of the many authors for whom I do ESL (English as a second language) editing of the manuscripts that they want to submit to U.S. medical journals for publication.

I have e-mailed all of them expressing my concern and asking that they write back to tell me whether they and their family members and colleagues are okay. Their replies are starting to come in.

Baojun in Hebei (aka Hubei) writes:

It is indeed that our Chinese are suffering an very heavy situation. The earthquake happened in the 14:28 p.m., and at that time, we are working in the building. Our city is about nearly 1,000 km far from Wenchuan in the Sichuan Province, the center part of the earthquake. During the earthquake happens, we felt the building shaking, but it is not very terrible. It lasts for about 2 or 3 minutes. At that time, we all rushed out. Half an hour later, we returned to normal work, here in our city. We got the latest news that the death number is increasing; they mainly locates in south part of china. Our government are gaining all the Chinese's efforts to help the people in the center of the earthquake. I am heard that there are at least 10 medical rescue team and nearly 200 medical rescuers are sending to the earthquake center.

Ting-Ting in Shanghai writes:

The earthquake happened in the Sichuan Province, where is far from Shanghai, but some high buildings in Shanghai had some shake for several minutes. No any damages occured in Shanghai, while reported nearly 10,000 people died in the Sichuan Province. The damage and injury is believed more severe in the central site where the communication way had brokened.

I'm still waiting to hear from Hongliang and Ke-Rong in Shanghai, Yixin in Beijing, and Tak-Chuen in Honk Kong.

Updated 5/14/08 at 12:49 a.m.: If you would like to make a donation to assist survivors of the earthquake, you can do so by mailing a check to the American Red Cross, making sure to write China earthquake victims on the check's memo line. I spoke with a Red Cross representative yesterday by phone, and he said that it will be a few days before the agency can get set up for accepting donations made by credit card that are specifically intended for the earthquake victims. He asked that meanwhile, checks be mailed to this address:

MMMMMMAmerican Red Cross
MMMMMMP.O. Box 7089
MMMMMMWashington, D.C. 20090-7089

earthquake China Sichuan Province copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing authors EditorMom

Miracles Do Happen

2008-05-12T00:57:00.003-04:00

This weekend, I have seen a miracle unfold, and it has filled my heart so much that I am overwhelmed with relief, happiness, and gratitude.

I've written here about my very bright 13-year-old son Neil, who has severe attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (AD/HD) and depression. I've also written that mine is the House of AD/HD, because I am now officially the sole person in this household with a current population of 6 people, 3 cats, and 1 dog who does not have AD/HD. (And we're not too sure about one of the cats.) AD/HD (not severe but the mild inattentive type) has recently been diagnosed in my 6-year-old, Jared.

The family joke has always been that Neil was born a cranky little old man. He's always been way too serious and very crabby and has never seemed to find much joy in life. Even the staff psychiatrists, in meeting with my husband Ed and me about Neil during Neil's hospitalization in the children's psychiatric unit of a local teaching hospital back when Neil was 8 years old for a reassessment of his diagnoses and medications, said, without being privy to our family joke, "Well, it's not psychiatric terminology, but Neil ... Neil was born a little old man." It's always been thought that his depression stems in part from anxiety. When he was in first grade years ago, his very experienced teacher told us that she thought that Neil would be the first first-grader she'd ever see have a heart attack, because he was extremely anxious when he and his classmates were asked, at the beginning of that school year, to walk over to a classmate and introduce themselves.

Late last week, Neil and I got into a ripsnorting argument. And in his anger and his upset, he finally blurted out what he's been holding in all of these years: Besides being depressed, he has always been anxious about just about everything. He constantly worried that "something bad" would happen to Ed or me or Jared or all three of us. He worried about his interactions with other students. He worried about his homework. The poor child was anxious about absolutely everything. And despite living in a family in which everyone talks about feelings in an effort to understand them, Neil has always kept his feelings inside. He thought that he was abnormal, he told us after the fight; he thought that not very many people have depression and that not many are anxious all the time. We were floored, because we're always talking about depression, for which I take medication, and other mental health disorders and their effects on people's lives. He apparently just couldn't get past his own feelings of shame and differentness to really have taken in what we'd always been saying. (Yes, Neil knows that I talk here about his achievements and his difficulties, and he says that that's okay with him.)

We got him in to see his therapist (the one who also monitors Ed's, Neil's, and Jared's AD/HD meds and my depression meds) on Friday after leaving a frantic call on her answering machine. Neil had come across to us as being so depressed that we were scared for his safety. (That poor boy, thinking that he had to handle this all by himself! Imagine how much worse it would be for him if he had parents who ridicule psychology and deny that there are such things as mental health problems.)

The therapist revised his diagnosis to generalized anxiety disorder and major depression (in addition, of course, to the AD/HD) and prescribed Lexapro, a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). He started taking it this weekend and will be gradually increasing his dose of that and weaning himself off of the Wellbutrin that he's taken for a few years for his depression.

Lexapro is prescribed both for generalized anxiety disorder and depression, whereas Wellbutrin treats only depression. That the Lexapro works for Neil makes sense logically, because one of the reasons those with AD/HD can't control what they focus on is that their bodies don't use the natural neurotransmitter dopamine efficiently, so they don't get a reward of mildly good feelings for focusing and completing tasks, something that those of us without AD/HD do get. Though there is no antidepressant yet that works directly on helping the body handle its own dopamine better—and research has shown that a low level of dopamine is a big contributor to major depression—Lexapro (and some other SSRIs) help the body use its own serotonin, another neurotransmitter, better. And when the serotonin system is working well, that helps improve the function of the dopamine system.

Just since Saturday, since Neil began taking the lowest beginning dose of Lexapro, we have seen a huge change in him. The one of our sons who pretty much never smiles is smiling frequently—and genuinely, not just molding his face into a position that he knows it's supposed to be in occasionally to allow him pass as "normal."

What broke my heart is that this boy, whom I've wanted his whole life to hug much more often than he permits, sat down on my lap tonight and hugged me and let me hug him—for a good 15 minutes! He must have needed so much more touch from us for years than he ever got before now. It wasn't that we didn't offer it to him; he just couldn't bring himself to seek it out or to sit still for very long when it was offered. This boy is the little engine that could, continuing to chug along despite such a painful emotional life and despite all he's had to go through as we tried to find the ideal educational situation to accommodate his AD/HD.

I cried when I held him, both with joy and with a desire to go back in time and take away all of the pain that he has had to live through. That there is a medication out there—and someone who knows to prescribe it—that can allow my child to experience "everyday" happiness that the rest of us take for granted is truly a miracle. Parents aren't supposed to have favorites, but I know that in a way, I admire Neil's accomplishments more than his sister's or his brother's because he has always had to work so much harder for them. Neil has the intelligence and the potential to make some great contribution to the world as an adult. I have always felt that in my very body. When the obstetrician held baby Neil up so that I could see him right after he was born, I truly felt the earth shift on its axis, something that I did not experience with either his older sister's birth or his younger brother's birth. Now it is possible that he may actually enjoy it when he makes that contribution. And it is possible that he may also have a significant other and several friends around to share that enjoyment, because he will be a pleasure to be with.

God, I love that child!

Neil son ADHD attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder ADD depression generalized anxiety disorder mental health medication EditorMom

Another Side of the Family

2008-05-09T19:59:00.005-04:00

My daughter, Becky, traveled out of state with her husband and daughter recently to see her father, my ex-husband, who will soon undergo kidney transplantation because he has polycystic kidney disease, which took the life of his sweet mother, Kate, nearly a year ago. Even though the visit was for a serious reason, it presented an opportunity for capturing some great photos, which Becky has shared with me:

My granddaughter, Ana, almost 1 year old	Ana meets her Great-Grandpa Don; she was given her middle name in memory of her Great-Grandma Kate
Four generations (left to right): Becky's Grandpa Don, Becky and Ana, and Becky's dad

granddaughter Anastasia daughter Becky ex-husband mother-in-law Kate EditorMom

Mean Girls Among the Ligustrums

2008-05-08T20:18:00.002-04:00

Blogging friend Imperatrix has posted about her favorite childhood imaginative play with her sister. That made me remember a drama that my own sister and I used to enjoy, one that eventually came to include playing a trick on our younger brother ... until he caught on.

My sister is 2 years younger than me, and our brother is 5 years younger than her. I don't remember how old we were when this drama was popular, but our brother was at least old enough to be able to handle a full-size (as opposed to toy) broom.

Our dad had built us girls a one-room playhouse in the backyard. We'd play Lost Girl, a drama of our own making, taking turns being the girl in question, with the other sister being the kind woman who lived in the [play]house in the imaginary woods. The story line invariably was that Lost Girl found herself without family because of some vague catastrophe, then wandered in the woods until she found Kind Woman's house. Kind Woman would take her in, and they'd have a wonderful life. (Yes, we were wishing for parents other than our own, but that's another story, a long, somber one for another time ... perhaps.)

One of the tasks of that life involved sweeping up the house. When our brother was old enough to play with us but still gullible, we'd let him be Lost Boy, sibling to Lost Girl. Kind Woman would send him out to hunt for food for the new little family, while Lost Girl helped around the house. Then when he returned with an imaginary catch, Lost Girl and Kind Woman would go outside of the house to prepare the dinner, and Kind Woman would request that Lost Boy sweep the floor.

Kind Woman and Lost Girl had plans other than food prep—nefarious plans—on their minds. They knew that the back wall of the house had been formed by placing two large sheets of plywood horizontally parallel to one another. Furthermore, they knew that there was a hairline gap between the two sheets. So while Lost Boy was sweeping inside the house, Kind Woman and Lost Girl picked waxy leaves from the long, towering row of ligustrums behind the house that camouflaged the chain-link fence on that side of the yard.

And then they did their evil deed: They fed those leaves, one by one, through the gap in the playhouse's back wall.

Lost Boy, being very young and gullible, couldn't figure out how those leaves were working their way through the back wall and onto the floor. He just kept sweeping, getting more and more aggravated, but he was determined to do his part to keep the house clean. I think that it took him a few reprises of Lost Girl to figure out the mystery. Lost Girl's and Kind Woman's eventual inability to stifle their giggles probably hastened his epiphany.

Amazingly, my brother is now one of my best friends, despite years of such suffering at the hands of my sister and me. ;-)

childhood sister brother play memories EditorMom

Reading: Getting a Round Tuit

2008-05-07T12:18:00.001-04:00

These books are in my stack of "just started" and "want to find time to get to":

The Audacity of Hope, by Barack Obama

The Bush Tragedy, by Jacob Weisberg

Dreams of My Father, by Obama

Half-Assed: A Weight-Loss Memoir, by Jennette Fulda, one of my favorite bloggers, found at Half of Me

The Liar's Diary, by Patry Francis

Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's, by John Elder Robison

Open Your Heart with Gardens: Mastering Life through Love of Plants, by Carolyn Haley, a copyeditor colleague of mine

The Scent of God, by Beryl Singleton Bissell

Souvenir, by Therese Fowler (and copyedited by me)

Let's see now: I should get round tuits for all of these once my 13-year-old gets somewhat used to the hormone swings of adolescence, my 6-year-old gets older, my 1-year-old granddaughter stops charming my socks off, and my husband and I aren't both working 7 days a week, with me working for both his business and mine. ;-) Not that I'm complaining—it's all pretty darn invigorating! But I used to have more time for unpaid reading for pleasure and edification before I was self-employed.

What titles do you have lying around to read, and when do you think you'll get a round tuit?

reading books EditorMom

The Fat Lady Has Sung

2008-05-07T10:13:00.001-04:00

At long last!

America has a presidential candidate who got there by being honest, by being intelligent and thinking for himself instead of being a puppet through whose mouth advisers speak, and by not stooping to play dirty politics. (Has Barack Obama brought up Monica Lewinsky and the likelihood that Bill Clinton, who, by many accounts, is still an unfaithful husband, will be a loose cannon and a liability? No, but Hillary Clinton has—go figure.)

Rock on, Obama!

Obama Clinton presidential candidate EditorMom

War—What Is It Good For?

2008-05-06T19:49:00.001-04:00

I'm in a video state of mind this week. And you have got to see this video of Edwin Starr's 1970 hit song "War," with images from the Iraq war. The Vietnam War wasn't good for anything in 1970, and the Iraq war isn't good for anything now.

war Edwin Starr protest music Vietnam Iraq EditorMom

Terrorism and Imperialism 101

2008-05-06T09:51:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I posted links to several Schoolhouse Rock videos, as music for grammar nerds. Today I point you to an excellent Schoolhouse parody video, "Pirates and Emperors," which you will find helpful if you, like many U.S. presidents, have a very limited definition of the term terrorism and are unfamiliar with the term imperialism.

terrorism imperialism United States Reagan Bush Schoolhouse Rock EditorMom

Music for Grammar Nerds

2008-05-04T22:39:00.024-04:00

Even as a teenager in the 1970s, I was a grammar nerd.

I loved it that network TV hosted Schoolhouse Rock, especially the Grammar Rock segments, though Multiplication Rock segments were fun too. What could be better than grooving to "Conjunction Junction" or "Adjective"?

Take a trip back in time as you watch these video shorts. Or if Grammar Rock is new to you, I hope you fall in love with it. Share it with a child and create another grammar nerd. (Temptation whispers in your ear: You can buy the thirtieth-anniversary Schoolhouse Rock DVD here. You know you want it.)

"Conjunction Junction"	"Interjections!"
"The Tale of Mr. Morton"	"Adjective"
"Preposition"	"Verb"
"Adverb"	"Nouns"
"Pronoun"

copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing grammar Schoolhouse Rock EditorMom

My Granddaughter's a Genius!

2008-05-03T11:26:00.001-04:00

Ana, my brilliant granddaughter, can now walk completely on her own! And she won't even turn 1 year old until May 14!

Updated 5/4/08 at 5:25 p.m.: It's come to my attention that astoundingly, some people don't know about a little literary device called hyperbole. Having been a mother three times over now, I just might know a wee little something about average ages for children's developmental stages, so I am dimly aware that starting to walk at age 12 months does not make a child precocious. Get a sense of humor, people, and let me enjoy my granddaughter's milestone in my own way.

granddaughter Anastasia EditorMom

You Get What You're Too Cheap to Pay For

2008-05-02T18:15:00.002-04:00

Holy river of red pencil—or holy track changes, as the case may be!*

From the Chronicle of Higher Education comes this news, shocking in the publishing industry:

Princeton University Press has recalled all copies of one of its spring titles after discovering more than 90 spelling and grammar errors in the 245-page work. The book, Cop in the Hood: My Year Policing Baltimore’s Eastern District, by Peter Moskos, was published on Thursday in an initial press run of 4,000 copies.

In what appears to be a first, the press plans to reprint the book and have it back in stores later this month, after the errors have been corrected. ...

"I was flabbergasted and embarrassed," said Peter Dougherty, the press's director. "This is a terribly embarrassing matter for Princeton University Press." ...

He said that Mr. Moskos's manuscript had been given to an inexperienced copy editor who failed to do the job properly. "We take a lot of pride in the quality of our copy editing," he said, citing the publisher's 103-year track record. "In this case, we messed up very, very badly." ...

University presses have a reputation for paying freelancers, both copyeditors and proofreaders, very little, and back when I was closer to being a greenhorn, a few university presses proved that reputation correct by balking at the amounts on invoices I sent them for my editing services. I quickly dropped such presses from my clientele because strangely, I'm fond of being able to afford shelter, food, and living and business expenses.

The thought that comes to mind with the Princeton debacle is that you get what you pay for. But did the author, who has blogged about the mess, not review the copyedited manuscript or page proofs—or was the last time he saw his manuscript the day he handed it, unedited, over to the press at the beginning of the production process? He doesn't say. Did the press's in-house production editors not do any kind of review at any stage? Did the press not bother with a proofreader after page makeup? Is the press's budget so small that it can pay for only one set of editorial eyes per manuscript?

Princeton just can't blame this whole embarrassing spectacle solely on the copyeditor. Publishing a high-quality book takes a whole chain of professionals in various subspecialties.

______________________
*If the manuscript for the soon-to-be redone book was edited on hard copy (paper), the copyeditor would likely have used some kind of colored pencil. It if was edited onscreen, the copyeditor would probably have used Microsoft Word's "track changes" function to show edits.

copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing Princeton University Press EditorMom

Livin' La Vida AD/HD

2008-04-29T12:17:00.006-04:00

I am an introvert and a homebody, and thus spectacularly suited for self-employment, but there are other reasons—3 of them, to be precise—for my not being gung ho about getting out and about. They are

My 46-year-old husband, Ed

Our 13-year-old son, Neil

Our 6-year-old son, Jared

They all have attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (AD/HD), and getting them all out the front door on time for any event takes a herculean effort. By the time we're all on our way somewhere, or some or all of them are on their way somewhere, I'm mentally exhausted and out of sorts. AD/HD is a neurobehavioral disorder that impairs executive function, that part of the brain that keeps a person focused on the right task at the right time. Because I don't have AD/HD, my executive function is fine, so I'm usually the one who keeps everyone on track. I'll go as far as saying that my executive function has been supremely honed by being depended on by several family members.

Yes, I know, they could all take their AD/HD meds earlier in the day so that they could focus better during the getting-ready part of the day, but then the meds would wear off too early, leaving them all unfocused during the critical homework and end-of-the-workday time. Somebody please invent an AD/HD med that provides 24-hour coverage!

And yeah, I do like to be on time, so maybe if I didn't care about lateness, this all wouldn't be as big a deal as it is. But my daughter from my first marriage, Becky, now 25, doesn't have AD/HD, and by the time she was a teenager, she was pretty much getting herself ready each school day. I didn't have to prod her. And ya know, teachers like to start classes on time and bosses expect people to be at work on time, so it's not just me.

My having to herd the guys used to seriously get in the way of our going to church on a regular basis. It's pretty hard to feel spiritual when you've had to cajole, prod, and even yell to get 3 guys' attention multiple times to keep them on track so everybody won't be late. And it's super hard to feel spiritual enough to be helping lead worship as a worship assistant or as a member of the choir after having to do all of that. When the church we went to showed the full extent of its conservative nature (after the very liberal pastor we loved went on to lead another church upstate), we decided that that was no longer the church for us. But for me, the monumental work involved in keeping my guys on track for showing up at church on time had nearly already been enough to make me want to stop going each Sunday morning. And now, it doesn't make me enthusiastic about seeking out a different church to attend. Will the new church have anyone who will come to our house and light firecrackers under my guys' behinds? Probably not.

Here is what a typical school day is like, when Neil's bus arrives in front of our house at about 7:10 a.m. and Jared's arrives at the stop at the end of our block somewhere between 8:45 and 9 a.m., and with Ed (who is self-employed now, just as I am) responsible for getting Jared to his bus stop (because I was responsible during all of those years that Ed worked away from home):

6 a.m.: Ed and I stumble out of bed after our alarm clocks ring. We decide who will be the one to wake up Neil the zombie teen. This morning, it's my turn to do the impossible so that Ed can get some extra sleep. (Yeah, yeah, we should've figured that out last night, but bedtime arguments aren't conducive to romance, doncha know.)

"Neil, wake up." Gentle shaking. "Neil, honey, wake up." Firmer shaking. "Neil, come on. It's a school day. Gotta get up." Shaking and tickling. "Neil!" ... Ten minutes later, I'm pulling the zombie up into a sitting position, I'm tickling him, I'm jiggling him, I'm moving him all over the place.

"Huh ... wha ... ? I'm awake, I'm awake!" And then he flops back down, asleep again.

Repeat for a few more minutes. Finally, my entreaties for him to pick out what he wants for breakfast sort of get through his fog. The boy who for years now hasn't liked eating cold cereal for breakfast finds himself standing in front of the pantry that contains the cereal boxes.

I'm surprised, but I say, "Okay, pick out a cereal, then."

"Cereal?!" he says, indignant. "Why do you want me to pick out cereal?"

"Because you went there as if you wanted cereal."

"I did not! I don't know why I'm here!"

Eventually, he chooses prefab pancakes that have to be heated up in our toaster oven.

6:20 a.m.: I stay with Neil throughout his breakfast to make sure that he stays awake and keeps moving. He's surly through most of the meal because I dared wake him. But toward the end, I get him laughing by making Star Wars jokes. "I bet you'd be wide awake if I put on a Star Wars movie on the TV."

"Well, of course!" he says with a reluctant grin.

"Luke, I am your mother," I say in a Darth Vader voice. "You must eat the incoming pancakes before the compound is overcome!"

Snort!

"If you do not hurry, we will be overcome by furry Ewoks!"

"Heh, heh." He finishes eating and takes his AD/HD meds and vitamins.

6:40 a.m.: "Come on, Neil. You know the drill: brush your teeth, get dressed, get out lunch money."

"Al-l-l-l-l right!"

6:50 a.m.: "Neil, come on already!"

7 a.m.: Neil's AD/HD meds are finally kicking in, and he's finally moving at seminormal speed. By this point, he's as cheerful as he'll be—he was born a serious little old man—and he's now huggy, which is a nice change after all of the surliness. This transformation takes place every school day.

7:05 a.m.: Jared stumbles out into the kitchen from his bedroom, waking up a half hour early on his own. He comes over for some Mommy kisses and hugs, all soft and sweet, then plods over to the living-room couch, where Neil is playing a handheld video game while waiting for his bus. He snuggles up to Neil and watches the game over his brother's shoulder. It's nice that for once, the boys aren't fighting.

7:10 a.m.: The bus arrives, and Neil heads out the door with a good-bye to Jared and to me. I wish him a good day, and then I tell Jared that he can go in and wake up his dad.

Jared, now really awake and getting enthusiastic about the day, says, "Yay! I'll jump on him!" After a while, Ed stumbles out, followed by Jared. Ed heads to the shower, and Jared heads to the playroom, knowing that he's not supposed to go there on a school morning.

7:35-ish a.m.: It's time for me to eat breakfast with Jared. "Jared, come out of the playroom, please. Time to decide what you want for breakfast."

His whine has awakened: "But I need to finish putting this together!"

"You can do that later if you finish getting ready early or after school. Let's eat."

"Fine!" He's in full crab mode now. "I'll have the dumb cinnamon Life cereal, then."

Still trying to show who's boss, he grabs my usual place where we eat breakfast. I play along and pretend to pout.

He capitulates. "Fine! You can have your spot!"

I graciously tell him that he can sit in it today, and he scrambles back to it. Then he snuggles up to me and eats, being cute but talking my ears off. This yackiness apparently is something that comes with AD/HD a lot of the time. All 3 of my guys have it, and not even AD/HD meds lessen it. Imagine my plight as an introvert—someone who needs plenty of quiet time to feel centered—living with people who talk so much that sometimes I feel like running away for a brief vacation by myself.

7:50 a.m.: Ed's finally finished using the shower as a visceral alarm clock. He joins us for the last bit of breakfast time.

8 a.m.: I remind Jared that it's time for him to put his breakfast dishes away and brush his teeth. Ed finishes eating and follows Jared into the bathroom. Much conversing between the guys follows. Though Ed has just taken his AD/HD meds, they'll take a half hour to kick in, so he's still scatterbrained and thinking more like Jared's best buddy than like his parent.

8:15 a.m.: I can't stand all the talking because when their mouths move, their bodies stop doing anything else. "Ed, honey, ple-e-ease stop yacking and move Jared along!"

"Okay, honey. Jared, stop talking."

Yeah, like you weren't doing any of the blabbing, Ed!

8:20 a.m.: Everyone's teeth finally brushed, both of the guys start getting dressed for the walk to Jared's bus stop. Meanwhile, I've settled in at my computer to read e-mails from friends and colleagues and clients before starting on paying work.

8:40 a.m.: Jared's finished dressing in our living room. Ed's off in our bedroom. After a while, I notice that he—Ed—is taking a really long time to get ready ... and that Jared's bus will arrive in 5 to 10 minutes! "Ed, come on already, honey! You're going to miss the bus!"

"All right! I'm coming, I'm coming."

Uh-huh, sure you are. I've heard that 50 million times before, and it's never true. "Ed!"

8:45 a.m.: Ed finally makes his way back to the kitchen, dressed except for his sneakers. Jared's been waiting for a while now, his jacket on and backpack in place, and he'd taken his AD/HD meds 15 minutes before. He decides he's heading down to the bus stop without his dad. I'm still in my nightgown, not yet having gotten dressed for the day because Ed was supposed to be handling the trip down to the bus stop. I'm not inclined to accompany Jared down the block in my nightgown.

"Argh! Ed, you're making me crazy! Jared's out the door and heading across the neighbors' yard and down to the bus stop—by himself!"

"Okay, okay!" And out the door he hobbles, his right leg not yet totally healed from the Achilles tendon tear that he sustained on Super Tuesday.

It's the same routine Monday through Friday, throughout the school year. (Summer is divine, not only for the great weather but also because I don't have to get anyone but myself moving in the mornings.) And just imagine with how little joy I looked forward to going through the same routine on Sundays after having done it 5 weekdays in a row.

Can you see why I'm exhausted before my workday even begins? I love my guys, but geez, it can be hard being the only person in the house who doesn't have AD/HD.

ADHD ADD medication neurobehavioral disorder impaired executive function distracted motor mouth exhaustion EditorMom

Embarrassing Mistake

2008-04-28T08:30:00.000-04:00

Wanna see an editor look ridiculous? Here's your chance. Enjoy!

copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom

Two Jordans: One Home, One Dead in Iraq

2008-04-25T13:04:00.001-04:00

My nephew, Jordan, who just turned 21, is back in the U.S. from Iraq after a stint with the U.S. Marines—for now—though he is not home yet. I am so glad that he's safe.

But on the front page of the Long Island newspaper today is the photo and story of another Jordan, 19 and also a marine, who was killed in Iraq. My husband, Ed, worked for years with the mother of the 19-year-old Jordan. It's so sad and shocking to Ed. The last time he saw that Jordan, the boy was about 11 years old.

I just can't see any good in this stupid war.

Jordan nephew U.S. Marines Iraq war senseless death EditorMom

Nothing to See Here; Move Along

2008-04-24T14:12:00.002-04:00

I've been quiet here lately. It's not that life hasn't been interesting enough for me to comment on. It's just that you might find it boring.

I've just been in the editing zone for several days, editing manuscripts that are well written and interesting while my sons are home from school during spring break, which means no getting up groggily at 6 a.m. to roll two children out the door and onto the bus. The weather's been all mellow springness, all blue skies and budding trees and flowers. I sip my imported white or green Chinese or Japanese teas, edit a while as I listen to classical music, e-mail some friends, check the news, talk with the kids, kiss my self-employed cabinetmaker husband, edit some more ...

Nothing here to see—just a woman enjoying her life. Move along ...

copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing spring break cabinetmaker tea EditorMom

Flying the Flag of Hope

2008-04-16T15:06:00.003-04:00

The last 7-plus years under George W. Bush's reign of greed and imperialism and stupidity have been demoralizing. For a while, my husband and I flew a custom "Impeach Bush and Cheney now!" flag, along with our peace-in-many-languages flag, on the large flagpole in our front yard. But now we're looking forward with hope, and our peace flag shares the flagpole with a custom Obama '08 flag, which reads "Change we can believe in." (The house you see isn't ours; it's the house across the street. This is the view through one of our front windows.)

Bush Cheney impeach Obama change hope peace flag EditorMom

The Human Connection

2008-04-16T10:53:00.002-04:00

I got the sweetest phone call yesterday from an author about my copyediting of her fun guidebook to all things Texan. It's always such a pleasure to hear from a happy author.

She thanked me, in her lilting Alabama accent, for my kind comments on her manuscript and for the catches I made. She was so friendly that she made my Texas accent come out of hiding. She said, "This is my ninth book, and it's the first time any editor has ever made nice little comments like that on my writing. I just had to call and thank you—and see if your voice was as nice as your notes sounded."

What a shame she's had to wait that long!

I'll never understand editors who do nothing but edit and don't take the time to work in a little praise where it's due. Authors put their hearts into their work, and who are we editors to only perform grammar and diction surgery with cold precision without relating to the authors as people? Do you go back to see the brusque, superefficient, emotionless physician, or do you instead prefer the physician who takes a few moments to listen to you and explain things to you—to connect with you?

I did a heavy edit of the Alabama author's manuscript, and she was still thrilled with my work. Yes, I made some good catches, but I also made sure to let her know when I saw her sense of humor shining through or when her description of a historic event was particularly engrossing.

Yes, be professional, but don't forget to be human too.

By the way, I got an invitation to visit my author if I ever make it down to Alabama. I have a few other invitations to countries around the world. Now to save up for the cost of all of those flights ...

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A Campaign-Season Lament

2008-04-15T19:13:00.001-04:00

'bama's bitter band of bourgeoisie
is so distressed, it wants a recipe
for something new, but then, you see,
Cindy McCain swiped it from the TV.

John McCain can't remember a thing;
he changes his course like a bird on wing.
Then he says that he said no such thing,
till the next time his thoughts take a swing.

Hillary Clinton's always preached gun control;
her friend led the Million Mom March patrol.
But now she's in PA, gun owners to console,
raisin' up a rifle in photos oh so droll.

All this silliness may drive me to drink
'cause it's put my mood in one big kink.
I want to know whether they'll rethink
and stop the political slither-and-slink.

Obama bitter McCain Recipe-gate dementia Clinton gun control presidential campaign hype EditorMom

Shrinking the World Through Editing

2008-04-13T14:58:00.000-04:00

It is just so cool to have clients from all over the world. It makes me feel part of an effort to further international understanding and enrich the world's literature.

I got a joyful e-mail yesterday from a physician in Egypt whose manuscript I copyedited. She was thrilled to let me know that her article has now been accepted for publication in a large U.S. medical journal. We've corresponded for several months now and have shared photographs of our children.

And yesterday I also heard from a physician in Saudi Arabia whose article has been accepted for publication in another U.S. medical journal, contingent on my editing it to polish the English. The author will be my first client from that nation.

Without leaving my computer, I've had the privilege over the last 13 years of getting to know a little bit about men and women from Czechoslovakia, China, Denmark, Finland, France, Hong Kong, Iran, Iraq, Italy, Japan, Korea, Singapore, Sweden, Taiwan, and Turkey too. I can't think of anything more enjoyable—except perhaps one day getting to meet some of my authors in person.

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My Favorite Daughter

2008-04-10T13:58:00.000-04:00

Today is the twenty-fifth birthday of my favorite young woman: my daughter, Becky, aka mother of my granddaughter, Ana. Happy birthday, sweetheart! And may your daughter always bring you as much joy as you bring me.

Becky daughter granddaughter Anastasia EditorMom

It's Spring, Damn It

2008-04-08T22:38:00.000-04:00

I'm damn cranky. That's because it's spring, when a middle-aged mother's fancy lethargically turns to thoughts of sleep.

This is that damnable time of year that I long for the school year to be done with, damn it, so that I don't have to spend 15 damn minutes trying to awaken a tall, gangly, dead-to-the-world eighth-grade boy at six damn o'clock every damn weekday morning. Because I've always promised myself that I'd never let a minor child of mine go off to school in the morning without some parental hugs and cheer, I have to get up way too damn early 5 days a week. Why the damn schools think it's damn smart to have teenagers start classes at the crack of damn dawn, I'll never know. The zombie teen's first-grader brother doesn't have to be up until 7:30 a.m., damn it, and of course the little one is the easy one to awaken.

Summer and sleeping in on weekdays—ah, the perks of self-employment—can't come too damn soon. The school year here on Long Island runs until damn near the end of June.

Damn it!

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Friday Grandchild Blogging

2008-04-04T16:54:00.000-04:00

This adorable Easter Bunny is my granddaughter Ana, who will celebrate her first birthday in May. She's cruising and trying to walk unassisted. I have no idea how she managed to grow so fast! The strong arms supporting her are those of my son-in-law, Li, who went out and had Anastasia tattooed on his arm shortly after Ana was born.

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Uncle Sam Wants Your College Kids' Data

2008-04-02T23:25:00.000-04:00

This pisses me off greatly. I'm very glad that my daughter is no longer a university graduate student and that my sons are too young to attend a university, because all U.S. college and university students' data must now be handed over to the military.

The Department of Defense has ruled that military recruiters must be given access to universities' student directories if recruiters from potential employers are also given access, according to the Army Times:

... Students can opt out of having their information turned over to the military only if they opt out of having their information provided to all other recruiters, but schools cannot have policies that exclude only the military, defense officials said in a March 28 notice of the new policy in the Federal Register.

The Defense Department "will honor only those student 'opt-outs' from the disclosure of directory information that are even-handedly applied to all prospective employers seeking information for recruiting purposes," the notice says.

Directories are an important recruiting tool because they include the names, birthdates, phone numbers and academic pursuits of college students that can be used to identify people with knowledge and interests that are particularly useful to the military.

The new policy also no longer lets schools ban military recruiters from working on campuses solely because a school determines that no students have expressed interest in joining the military. If other employers are invited, the military has to have the same access.

Federal funding can be cut off if colleges and universities do not give recruiters and ROTC [Reserve Officer Training Corps] programs campus access. While student financial assistance is not at risk, other federal aid, especially research funding, can disappear if a school does not cooperate. ...

I want the military to keep its hands off my kids and their data. For now, I'll keep collecting evidence (their essays, artwork, etc.) that my sons are pacifists, so that one day, if they remain pacifists as 18-year-olds, they can use what's in my files on them as documentation that they have always been conscientious objectors.

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"LOL Together"

2008-03-21T16:46:00.006-04:00

This is not for those who have no tolerance for silliness.

You've seen plenty of LOLcats (and here).

(see more crazy cat pics)

Now listen to "LOL Together," based on the Beatles' "Come Together" (lyrics here).

LOLcats I can has cheezburger LOL Together EditorMom

Voting Miracles Do Happen

2008-03-20T08:28:00.002-04:00

I'm so proud of my brother, the apathetic nonvoter from Texas.

Despite my encouragement [grin], he's become an Obama fan. And now, at the age of 41, he's actually going to register to vote for the first time! Here is Monday night's e-mail conversation between the two of us. But first you'll need to know that he's a help-desk guy for a large satellite communications company; before he started working there a few years ago, he had his own business as an information technology specialist.

wally: One of my long-term customers (one of only two whose computers I continue to maintain even today) made a comment to me today when I asked what he thought of the Obama–preacher ordeal. He said, "That nigger will never get my vote." I turned around and told him, "This faggot would vote for that nigger in a heartbeat, if I were registered to vote!" Yes, I said it just like that. I was going for the shock effect. You could have heard a pin drop. I finished fixing his computers and wished him a good evening. As it turns out, he wants that Bush look-alike asswipe [McCain] to take office.

me: Wonderful! (And if you want to vote, there's still time to register. I can e-mail you the link to a downloadable registration form and give you the address for mailing it in [grin].)

wally: You’re shitting me! Yes! If it's not too late, please oblige!

Now I can die happy, because I never thought I'd see the day that my brother, Mr. Stay-Out-of-It-All, would want to vote. Miracles do happen.

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